From the moment the cell door slammed behind me, I realized that this place wasn't made for justice—it was built to erase people. And I was just another name on the list, a number on a file. The air was heavy with sweat, piss, metal, and despair. I was no longer Ryena Ardeen, daughter of a brilliant scientist. I was inmate 1279. My hands still trembled from the shock of betrayal, from the weight of silence. The cold concrete floor beneath me didn't care who I was. The walls didn't care. No one did.
They shoved me into the general population with nothing but a threadbare uniform and a mattress that reeked of mildew. I didn't even get time to breathe before the first sneer came.
"Fresh meat," a voice hissed, cruel and gleeful.
I turned. A tall, broad-shouldered woman with uneven hair and inked knuckles leaned against the doorway, a predator eyeing prey. Her eyes raked over me like I was dirt.
"You don't look like you'll last a week." She said mockingly
And she was right.
By the end of the first day, I was covered in bruises. They stole my food. Shoved me into walls. Mocked me when I cried. One even tore the chain from my wrist—Mom's last gift, a bracelet with her initials—and laughed while stepping on it.
"You're the killer bitch, aren't you? Gutted your own mother? That's cold. Even for prison."
I wanted to scream that it wasn't true. That I was framed. But here, truth was currency—and I had none. My voice was worthless.
I spent the first night huddled in the corner of my cell, eyes wide open, afraid of what might happen if I closed them. The shadows outside the bars whispered my name. Not kindly. Not with concern. But like it was a joke, a curse.
I didn't sleep. I couldn't.
"I didn't do anything but why im suffering" I muttered as i cry silently
The next morning, they threw a tray of slop through the bars. I barely touched it. My stomach felt like it had turned to stone. My throat ached from holding back sobs. I wanted to disappear. Vanish.
That's when it happened.
During lunch, someone shoved me into a puddle of gravy. I landed hard, the tray flipping into the air and clattering beside me.
"Oops," the woman sneered. "Clumsy murderer with mommy issues."
Laughter roared around me. I scrambled up, drenched and shaking. My cheeks burned. My vision blurred with hot tears.
And then I heard another voice. Calm. Clear. Dangerous.
"Back off."
Everyone turned.
She walked in like she owned the room. Dark curls twisted into a messy bun, scars painting her knuckles, and a stare so piercing it cut through bone. She stepped between me and the others like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The woman who'd pushed me scoffed. "Who the hell do you think you are, Hiliana?"
"Hili," she corrected coolly. "And if you lay one more hand on her, I'll make sure you don't lay another on anyone ever again."
The cafeteria went silent. Tension crackled in the air like static. Then, reluctantly, they backed off when they saw guard's coming in.
Hiliana crouched beside me, offering a hand.
I stared. No one had touched me kindly since I was dragged from my house.
"Come on," she said, softer now. "Up."
I took her hand. Her grip was warm. Steady.
That night, I sat in the far corner of the common room, arms wrapped around my knees. I watched her across the room, surrounded by others but completely untouchable. Like a storm wrapped in calm.
She walked over without a word, handed me a clean towel.
"You looked like you needed one."
I nodded, throat tight. "Thank you."
"You don't belong here," she said, studying me like she could see through my skin. "But the place doesn't care. So if you want to survive, you stay close to me. Got it?"
I nodded again.
For days, I followed her silently. She kept me safe from the worst of it—sometimes just a glance from her was enough to keep the others away. But I still felt broken. Like my pieces didn't fit together anymore.
She never asked me what I did. Never called me names. Never treated me like trash. She just silently observing me and never said anything that would make me uncomfortable.
And one night, while we sat on her bunk playing cards with smuggled candy, I broke.
"I didn't kill her." My voice was a whisper.
Hiliana didn't look surprised. She just handed me a wrapped chocolate like I was a kid.
"Didn't think you did," she said simply.
I swallowed hard. "But everyone else—"
"They'll believe what makes them feel better."
I stared at the wall. "I was supposed to have a life. My mom was cold, yeah. Distant. But she wasn't cruel, Or so I think. And Vincent... he was supposed to be the one person I could trust."
She didn't interrupt.
"He took everything. My laptop, my research... even my house. And then he stood there while they cuffed me. Just watched."
My voice broke. I buried my face in my hands. "Why did he do that?"
Hiliana let me cry. She didn't try to hug me. Didn't offer fake comfort. She just sat there, solid and silent, the way a wall stands firm against wind.
"Sometimes," she said after a while, "people betray you because they're weak. And sometimes because they're monsters. Either way, you've still got to survive"
I looked at her through tear-streaked eyes. "Why are you helping me?"
She shrugged. "Because I know what it's like to be thrown away."
That night, I dreamed of freedom for the first time in weeks. Not of justice—not anymore—but just the open sky. Wind on my face. A world where I could breathe again.
I knew it was far. Maybe impossible.
But now... I wasn't completely alone.
And in this place, that was everything.